


Coda

by Nara



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Car Accidents, Character Death, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Death, Depression, M/M, Mind the Tags, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 02:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nara/pseuds/Nara
Summary: co·da: /ˈkōdə/ noun:(1) a concluding event, remark, or section OR(2) an abbreviation for "codependent"The problem is: if you make someone your everything, when they're gone, you have nothing.





	Coda

**Author's Note:**

> It seems kinda prevalent in fandom that Viktor doesn't really have anyone besides Makkachin before he meets Yuuri. Sure, he has Yakov, he knows Yuri Plisetsky and his rinkmates, and to some extent, there's Chris. But the impression I got was that Chris saw Viktor more as a friendly competitor, and less as a friend. But then comes Yuuri. Yuuri, for all he feels like he was fighting alone, had his family, Phichit, Minako, Yuuko and Takeshi (even if he didn't talk to them much before returning to Japan). But Viktor only had Makkachin...and then Yuuri.
> 
> That could very easily lead to an unhealthy codependency. I'm not saying that I think Viktor and Yuuri are codependent in the show...but I think they could be. And then I wondered, what would happen to Viktor if something happened to Yuuri? I didn't want to break them up, I love them too much and I think they love each other too much, so then this happened.
> 
> Angst. Pointless, pointless angst. At least it's short?

The call that shattered Viktor Nikiforov’s world came at 3:46 on a Tuesday afternoon.

Skating over to the edge of the rink, Viktor picked up his water bottle and took a few long gulps before taking his cellphone from Yakov.

“This thing has been ringing incessantly, Vitya. What have I told you about turning it off during practice?”

“But what if Yuuri needs me?” Viktor asked brightly, “I can’t ignore him now, can I?”

Yakov shook his head as the phone began ringing again. “Pick it up. But make it quick.” He walked away to fix the forms of some of the junior skaters.

Smiling, Viktor answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Nikiforov? I’m glad we finally reached you.”

Viktor’s smile faded at the unknown voice. “Yes? Who is this?”

“This is the St. Petersburg local police department. I’m calling because there’s been an accident. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

Viktor’s stomach sank and his tongue turned to sand in his mouth. “Wh-what accident? Who was in an accident?”

“A Mr. Yuuri Katsuki. We need you to…we need you to come down to the precinct to identify his body.”

“His body?” Viktor’s voice was small. He couldn’t be hearing right. Yuuri had just gone home to take Makkachin out. He was going to bring back a light dinner in an hour. They had practice.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Viktor sank to his knees on the ice, letting the hand holding his phone fall. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He could hear the voice of the police officer still calling to him through the tinny speakers. Yakov came back over to find Viktor on the ice, unmoving.

“Vitya, get up. Who was on the phone?”

Viktor held his phone up to Yakov, still not saying anything, as the police officer continued to try to focus Viktor’s attention. Yakov frowned. “Vitya, I’m not taking this phone call for you. I’m not your mother.”

Viktor stood up and pressed the phone into Yakov’s hands before sinking back down onto the ice, curling up into a ball. Yakov sighed and put the phone to his ear.

“Yes? Who is this?”

Viktor could not hear what the police officer was saying anymore. He couldn’t hear anything anymore. He shuddered, only in part from the cold of the ice. A broken sob wracked his body, and once he started crying, he couldn’t stop.

Suddenly, the door along the rink was opened and Viktor was pulled into Yakov’s arms. Yakov hadn’t held him since…Viktor wasn’t sure if Yakov had ever held him. Viktor started crying harder. Yakov wasn’t affectionate like this. This was wrong. Everything…everything was wrong.

“Come on, Vitenka.” Yakov’s voice was gentler than anything Viktor had heard him use before. He let Yakov lead him to a bench and take off his skates. Yakov turned to shout orders to the rest of the team before helping Viktor into his street shoes and ushering him out the door. The cold air was like a slap to the face, and Viktor startled.

“I can’t…Yakov, I can’t.”

Wrapping an arm around Viktor’s shoulder, Yakov kept him upright and moving forward. “I know. But you have to. I’m here.”

Viktor cried.

~~~

Viktor had never had many friends before Yuuri. He had colleagues, competitors, sponsors. He had rinkmates. He had Yakov. He had Makkachin.

Viktor had been at the top of the world in competitive skating for so long everyone he knew was a skater or skate-adjacent.  His rinkmates looked up to him, they would ask him for advice, but they would never invite him out for lunch. His competitors put him on a pedestal, as someone to aspire to, someone to beat. There was Christophe, who was the closest thing to a good friend he had. But they only met up at competitions and he was more of a late-night-drinks-and-banter friend than a calling-because-I’m-lonely-and-sad friend.

So Viktor skated, and skated, and skated. And he won, and kept winning. He let the ice and his medals take over the part of him that looked for connection. He substituted attention and admiration for affection. He pretended Yakov was his father sometimes and if he cried into Makkachin’s fur at night, nobody would know.

Then Viktor met Yuuri. Yuuri, who danced into his life and begged him to be his coach. Yuuri, who was his biggest fan. Yuuri, who may have run away at first, but who took none of his shit. Yuuri, who snuck into the hole in his heart and filled it with friendship, with trust. Yuuri, who wanted Viktor to be Just Viktor, and not Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri, who loved him.

Suddenly, Viktor’s life was full. He could talk to his competitors, the other skaters, now – even if they weren’t close, they were still friends. He had a family – Hiroko and Toshiya and Mari and Minako. Little Yuri Plisetsky kept him on his toes. Phichit filled his life with stories and photos. And Yuuri. Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri. Yuuri was his life. His love.

But now. Yuuri was gone.

~~~

The funeral was cold. It was spring in Japan. There were cherry blossoms. Viktor was still cold. Viktor held Makkachin’s collar tightly in his hands. She too…she had been hit by the same car that hit Yuuri. Neither of them made it. Viktor was going to bury Makkachin’s collar with Yuuri. He wasn’t sure what else to do.

Viktor stood up when everyone else did, walking stiffly towards the casket. He placed the collar in Yuuri’s hands, as other family members placed flowers around Yuuri’s head. Hiroko came up to Viktor and hugged him tightly as the casket was nailed shut. Next was the cremation. Viktor didn’t think he could handle it. He didn’t want to see it. But he followed the Katsuki family anyway.

At the onsen that evening, Viktor sat with Mari, who was silent. Minako was drinking. Hiroko and Toshiya were holding each other, whispering quietly. Viktor had cried all the tears he had. He didn’t think he could cry anymore. Staring at the wall, he saw nothing.

“Vicchan…” Hiroko’s voice was gentle, but Viktor jumped anyway. “Vicchan we want you to stay here.”

“I have to…I have to go back to St. Petersburg.” Back to his cold apartment, empty, without Yuuri or Makkachin. “I have to skate.”

Mari shook her head. “No you don’t. You need to be here, with family.”

“You don’t understand!” Viktor shouted, surprised at his own volume. “I have to skate! I _have_ to! Skating is what Yuuri and I had together! Now skating is…skating is all I have left…”

He broke down. Shuddering, wailing sobs. Cries without tears. Minako teared up, put her head on the table, shoulders shaking as she tried to suppress her sobs. Tears trailed down Mari’s cheeks and Hiroko and Toshiya buried their faces in each other’s shoulders.

They cried together.

~~~

Viktor was back in St. Petersburg. He threw himself into his skating, but he fell on his jumps, stepped out of his spins. Yakov wouldn’t even yell at him, telling him instead to take his time and get his head together. His rinkmates looked at him with pity, tried to invite him out, but he didn’t want to go.

All he wanted was Yuuri.

Viktor wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. He spent as many nights as he could wandering around St. Petersburg until he absolutely needed to go back and crashed into bed, fitfully, dreamlessly. He had no reason to be there without Makkachin or Yuuri. He had no reason to be anywhere.

Viktor unlocked his apartment door, grocery bag full of vodka under one arm, pharmacy bag with sleeping pills in the other. He knew what he wanted to do. He just wasn’t sure if he could.

Sitting alone at the kitchen table, drinking vodka directly from the bottle, Viktor watched the ghosts of his past dance around the apartment. Yuuri’s skate bag was still by the door. Makkachin’s dog bed was in the corner. Viktor could hear the faint sizzling of pork cooking in the pan, of Yuuri’s laughter as they did an improvised tango around the living room. He drank more vodka and poured the pills out of the bottle onto the table. He picked one up and examined it. He could just…take them all, couldn’t he? That was what he planned to do, wasn’t it? It should be enough…a bottle of pills and a whole bunch of vodka. He hoped it would be enough.

Taking another swig of vodka and grabbing a handful of pills, Viktor was about to pop them in his mouth when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Yuri Plisetsky. For a moment, Viktor considered not answering it. Then he thought he should probably say goodbye. Dropping the pills back to the table, he picked up the phone.

“Hiiiiiiiiiii Yuraaa…” he slurred. He must have had more vodka than he thought.

“Viktor, are you drunk?”

“Maaayybbe.”

“Viktor you can’t. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. He wouldn’t want this! Katsudon would want you to be happy!”

Viktor stiffened. “Whadda you know?”

“I know Katsudon loved you! And if you took your head out of your ass for just one second, you would see that we are all fucking worried about you, and we’re trying to help, and Yuuri would want you to be happy!”

Viktor’s shoulders started to shake. He couldn’t tell if he was crying or laughing. “I’m sorry, Yura. I can’t do this anymore.”

He heard Yuri’s sharp intake of breath. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry. Goodbye, Yura.”

“Viktor! Wait! You can’t – don’t make me come over there! Viktor - !”

Viktor hung up the phone. He gathered the pills, four at a time, and swallowed them all with a swig of vodka.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri. I’ll see you soon.”

Viktor closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I sobbed the whole time writing this. I'm not sure if it's worth it.
> 
> I love Viktor and Yuuri. I love them too much. And I don't want to impose real-world problems on an idealized fictional couple when they're not there. But sometimes you get an idea in your head and you can't stop until it's written out.
> 
> If you or a loved one think you're in a codependent relationship, that doesn't make your relationship inherently bad, but it is something you need to work on. At least in the US, there's a group called CODA, which is an alcoholics-anonymous style group meeting for people in codependent relationships.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
